


Diplomatic Traditions

by gaslightgallows (hearts_blood)



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Semi-Public Sex, Short One Shot, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 16:53:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18319403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/pseuds/gaslightgallows
Summary: John knows that sometimes, it's better just to shut up.





	Diplomatic Traditions

**Author's Note:**

> I don't often write Delenn/John, but when I do, it's bound to be ridiculous. ;) Another one from the LJ vaults. Originally written in 2012.
> 
> f you're over on Tumblr, please consider following me at [gaslightgallows.tumblr.com](http://gaslightgallows.tumblr.com/) for more fic, reblogs about writing, and lots of randomness. Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

There were no seasons in the garden on B5. Between the gardeners and the systems engineers, the kept the whole place at a pretty even temperature—nice and warm, with the occasional breeze to liven things up and just a hint of humidity, the kind of air that weighed on John's shoulders the littlest bit too heavily and made him long to take off his jacket and throw it over a convenient bush. And then if he was feeling very relaxed and pleased with life, follow it up with his shirt, and just hang that over a nice tree branch. And then be contented with that, since the garden was a public space, after all. It wasn't the back slope of his dad's orange grove on a June night, when the air was so warm and soft that John could lie on the grass naked and spread out his limbs and not know where he ended and the sky began.

But the heavy moist air of the garden, combined with Delenn's soft fingers on his bare shoulders as they hid behind a thick screen of bushes, was a pretty damned fine substitute.

"This," he hissed into her neck, gritting his teeth to bite back a low moan, "is a _terrible_ idea."

Delenn smirked. "Then _why_ are you pulling my skirt up?"

"Probably because you've got your hands down the back of my pants."

It was a terrible idea and a wonderful idea, but it was late—well, late-ish—and the garden was not very frequented after about twenty-two-thirty or so on weeknights, and... "Eh, what the hell. Never was any good at saying no to a woman."

"Really? And why is that?"

"Mom always taught me not to argue with ladies."

"Mmm. I like your mother." Delenn moved her hands purposefully, and then she smiled, deeply satisfied at the way he tensed and then hardened further at her touch. 

Not to be outdone, John pushed the dress down her arms and pulled her against his damp chest, his slick muscles against her softness; he dipped his head to capture a nipple in his mouth. Delenn made no sound but a small gasp in her throat, but her fingers flexed and dug into his back at the sudden sharp pleasure.

What clothes still hung on them were quickly discarded, and Delenn pulled John down to the grass and straddled his hips. "I sure hope getting caught out in public is a diplomatic tradition on your planet," John muttered, with a glassy grin that was quickly wiped away when Delenn took him. "It's sure as hell gonna be," he gasped between her hungry kisses, "if we keep this up." He tangled his fingers in her hair—stroked the delicate tracery of her crest—smoothed his hands down her lithe back to press her closer around him. "The garden, the observation dome, a grounded Starfury—"

"Traditions have to start somewhere," Delenn murmured, her mouth on his throat.

The sounds of voices trickled through the branches, and Delenn froze, her pale eyes wide and still. 

"Walking away will not help you, Mollari," came G'kar's strident tones. "We live in a closed cylinder. You can only walk so far before you have to turn back—and then you will find me following you."

"What if I were to walk out of an airlock, G'kar, would you follow me then? It would almost be worth suicide to know that I have rid the universe of such an irritant."

Fuck, John thought frantically. Delenn, still lying on his chest, was struggling not to burst out in giggles. As awkward as the situation had suddenly become, he couldn't help but admire how beautiful she looked, with her hair tossed and her eyes bright with laughter.

"Better an irritant like me than a parasite like you, Mollari."

"Yes, well," Londo sneered, "better a parasite like me than—is that a pair of trousers?"

John's eyes widened at Delenn. _Damn, woman, how far did you fling those things?_

"Don't try to change the subject, Mollari, I—it _is_ a pair of trousers. And there's a shirt on that branch."

There was a moment of silence, and then Londo burst out in a juicy laugh. "Those are pieces of an Earthforce uniform! And very important pieces, too..." Behind the trees, John and Delenn held their breath. John could imagine all-too-clearly the leering of Londo's substantial eyebrows as he spoke through his mirth. 

"This is too much—there is an Earthforce officer here, _at sport_."

"So it would seem," replied G'kar, in a gruff, no-nonsense voice. "Come along, Mollari."

"G'kar—"

But the Narn ambassador was not about to be diverted from his objective—whatever it was—not even by the prospect of teasing some bare-assed Earthforce officer about his or her technique, and he actually took the astonished Londo by the arm and dragged the Centauri ambassador out of the garden and out into the corridor and away, berating him the whole way about some trade agreement or other.

John let out a relieved gust of breath. "Hell, Delenn, I—"

But she didn't let him finish. Delenn kissed him firmly and with eager purpose, rocking against his groin. His softened erection hardened inside her, and John decided that what he'd been about to say, whatever it was, could wait.


End file.
